


Never Look a Gift Boyfriend in the Mouth

by SerpentsKiss



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Being Stranded on Mars, Body Image, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 13:12:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5709454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentsKiss/pseuds/SerpentsKiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the teeth that really got to him. Everything else he could bear the indignity of.</p><p>Original idea is my own, but it took flight with the liberal assistance of LadyGabe and her characterization of Dr. Chris Beck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Look a Gift Boyfriend in the Mouth

It was the teeth that really got to him. Everything else he could bear the indignity of, even Chris tenderly stripping him out of his grimy EVA suit and sponging off the worst of his reek so he could examine the damage to Mark's body. He tolerated the gentle prodding, the pain in Chris's eyes as he assessed the cost of being stranded on Mars. Chris outlined a treatment plan for Mark as he examined him, keeping both of their minds off all of the things that needed to be said, and Mark listened mostly just for the pleasure of hearing his lover's voice again.

“-- what?” He became dimly aware of the fact that Chris expected him to answer something. He'd gotten lost in a sort of pain haze as the meds Chris had fed him struggled to take hold.

“I want you to go take a shower now that you can move again,” Chris explained patiently. “You'll feel better, and then I'll finish up by taking a look at your mouth and teeth.”

Because of the malnutrition, Mark's brain said. He'd had plenty of vitamins, but his gums still didn't appear to be in the best shape. The cavity-ridden mess of his teeth might also have caused an infection, or several. Of course Chris had to take a look. But of everything he'd let Chris do to him, of all of the shame he'd swallowed to let Chris give him a fucking sponge bath after well over a year of being filthy, he just couldn't stand the thought of Chris taking a good hard look at his teeth.

His mouth got going before his brain properly kicked in. “You don't need to look at my teeth. You're not a dentist.”

The hurt look in Chris's face hit him like a punch in the gut (worse than the broken ribs, even), and he hastily tried to explain himself. “I just mean – you can't treat them. You can only treat for infection and give me supplements and you're going to do that anyway, so it doesn't matter, right?” He tried to sound reassuring.

“I should still take a look.” The veiled injury Chris was trying valiantly to hide was all boyfriend, not mission doctor. He was trying to do his job, though. Trying to do his job and take care of Mark and not be hurt.

Shit, Mark thought. He owed Chris so much better than this. He hadn't even been able to hug him and tell him how much he missed him yet. “Just – just give me a toothbrush and some toothpaste and pump me full of antibiotics. I'll be okay. You're taking care of all the big stuff.” The punch in the gut was turning into a twisting that rose up in his chest like acid. This mattered way too much, more than was logical, and he was resisting one of those damn panic attacks that he'd sworn he wouldn't have anymore once he got off Mars and was safe.

“Mark --”

“ _Chris_.” Too late. The dam broke and he began to shake slightly, trying not to let Chris see it. Tears were pricking his eyes, spilling hot over his cheeks, angry and ashamed and afraid. “Leave me my _pride_.”

Chris looked very much like Mark had just slapped him. He was speechless for a long moment, so pale he was almost white. “I'll… get you a toothbrush,” he managed, and he got up and went to do just that.

***

The shower didn't much help. The mirror NASA offered outside Hermes's modest shower was a joke under normal circumstances, but it was more than enough to remind Mark just how much he'd changed since the last time he and Chris had been together. When they'd sneaked in to Chris's room for their last bit of stolen time before they descended to Mars, Mark had been a pretty ideal male specimen. Fit and healthy and strong and flexible and – well, virile. He'd had everything to give Chris, and nothing to hold back. Now…

Now. Now he looked like shit. His ribs stuck out. His muscles had shriveled. His skin was thin and dry and broken in some places. He bled too easily. His back liked to give out. His smile looked like it came straight off a skull. His teeth were discolored and rotten. His breath was like death. He was afraid to kiss his own goddamn boyfriend.

But Chris thought a shower would make him feel better. So Mark did his best to paste on a less miserable expression and brushed his teeth, which were desperately tender in places, and almost brushed the tastebuds right off his tongue in his effort to not stink. Then he put on old clothes that were far too loose on him, and went out to try to get used to being in the same room as his lover.

***

He knew it bothered Chris that he would barely kiss him. Mark slept in the same bed with him, sure, now that Lewis knew and they didn't have to sneak around. He cuddled as close to Chris as he could without hurting his ribs and touched him more casually whenever they were in the same room together (which was as often as Mark could manage it). He did his best to make sure that Chris knew he loved him, even if their conversation was still stilted and awkward, and even if when Chris tried to kiss him, Mark could only kiss back quickly and turn away.

After a few days he began hounding Martinez. He didn't realize he was doing it, until the fifteenth or sixteenth time he asked Martinez if his breath was _really_ alright and Martinez turned around in exasperation and told him that if Mark wouldn't believe him, he ought to go ask Lewis, because he'd damn well have to believe her.

The fact that Mark went and did it made it obvious just how bothered he was. He slunk up to her like a dog with his tail between his legs (well, he walked up to her normally, but his eyes said it all), and opened his mouth to speak. She shut him up by putting her hands on his shoulders and looking at him levelly.

“Mark.”

He sounded hoarse, even to himself. Damn it. “Commander?”

“Everyone can tell you both hurt.” Was that compassion in her eyes? It probably was. Damn her, as stern as she could be, she _was_ a human being, and she was married, and she'd put off seeing her husband for almost two extra years to get him back. “Go find Beck, and tell him you love him, and take him to bed.”

That wasn't what he expected. “Comman --”

She cut him off. “That's an order, Watney. Your breath smells fine.”

“… damn it, Martinez.” But he nodded, and swallowed hard, and went.

***

Chris was in his lab with his mice when Mark found him, looking down at a tablet that Mark was pretty sure he wasn't managing to read. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Chris watch the screen, then cleared his throat, trying to ignore the familiar sick feeling in his stomach.

“-- Mark?” Chris looked up hurriedly. “Are you okay?”

Of course Chris would worry about that first. Unfortunately, Mark wasn't ready to answer that yet. He cleared his throat again, trying not to shift awkwardly on his feet. “… it's been pointed out to me that I'm upsetting you.” Not that he wasn't upset, too, and not without reason even if it wasn't strictly logical. That wasn't the point, though. He was trying to make Chris feel better.

“Who said that?” Chris sounded a little protective, annoyed that someone had bothered Mark with that when there were more important things for Mark to be worrying about.

Mark hurried to derail that train of thought. “The person I asked.” Sort of. “That's not the point. Point is – you are upset. And it's my fault. And – come to bed?” That was the scary part. The thing he'd been avoiding. Not wanting Chris, not being with Chris, but the possibility that Chris might realize what exactly had happened to his lover and not really want him back. His chest hurt as he waited for Chris to reply.

“You want me to?” Chris sounded – hopeful. As though he'd been doubting that Mark did want him, and Mark's gut did some really creative things that Mark himself was no longer flexible enough to do.

“I haven't wanted anything more since I got back to Hermes. – Okay, maybe pain meds, but that was only the first couple of days, and I just – logic isn't – easy right now – and I got nervous and – last time we were together – “ He trailed off, not wanting to outline every detail of why he felt utterly undesirable just in case Chris somehow hadn't noticed.

Apparently Chris hadn't, because instead of pursuing the conversation further he dropped his tablet on the table and came to wrap his arms around Mark, burying his face in his neck.

… oh. Mark held on to him tightly, guilt washing over him, and ignored the objections of his ribs. “I'm really sorry. I'm so, so sorry, love. I'm not dealing with things well.” His words were muffled, spoken into Chris's hair. “None of it is your fault or anything to do with you and you're the only thing that makes it better. And – I love you, and I'll always love you, and I'll always want you, and I'll always hate not being close to you? Okay? I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

“I love you.” Chris almost spoke over him, wanting urgently to get the words out before tears took their place. “I love you so much, and I hate that you hurt. I just want to fix it somehow, and I can't, and I'm just – frustrated. I can't just make it all better, and I – I need to.”

Of course Chris needed to. He became a doctor because he needed to fix things. Not necessarily heal people. That was a side effect, albeit a great one. But fix problems, like loss of bone density in space. That was who Chris was, and it was who mechanical engineer Mark was, so he understood, and he needed to fix Chris as badly as Chris needed to fix him.

“You will.” Mark forced certainty into his voice as he began to rub Chris's back in soothing little circles. “It's just – it's going to take a lot longer than either of us wants it to. But I love you, Chris. I love you so much, and you make it all so much less _awful_ , okay? I'm just scared, and it's a side effect of everything, and it's not your fault and I love you.”

“I love you too.” Chris said it again, beginning to relax under Mark's touch. His embrace became less clinging, easier. “I'm sorry, I just – “

Just felt like Mark didn't want him, Mark thought. Just as afraid as Mark was, but for different reasons. Afraid that Mark had gotten over him, afraid that Mark hated him for leaving him behind, afraid that the experiences that separated them would become a gulf. “I know,” he said gently, hoping he did. “It's okay.” And, trying to believe that it would be, he bent his head to kiss Chris as deeply as he knew how.


End file.
